Notches
by justrumbelledearie
Summary: Angsty interpretation of the notches on Rumplestiltskin's staff.


Bae cut his baby teeth on the staff, and those were the first notches.

He would sit near his Papa on a shawl on the floor of their hut and watch the wooden wheel spin and spin. When Bae tired of his rattle and his ball, he would reach out for Papa's staff.

Papa never stopped him, just glanced over to be certain the wood was clean enough for mouthing. "Are you hungry, Bae?" he would ask, his eyes concerned. Papa always looked concerned. Mama never did.

Those were the first notches.

On the day Bae turned two, his Papa called to him from across the yard. Bae ran to him on sturdy, dimpled legs, frightening and scattering the chickens. "It's your birthday, son. There's a surprise inside!" Bae had held tight to Papa's staff and _danced_ he was so excited. Inside the hut Mama was waiting with an apple cinnamon butter cake, and she was _smiling_, and her eyes were clear and bright, so it was a good day.

Later that evening, Papa told him to stand tall and straight beside his wooden staff. Papa took out a little whittling knife and notched the walking stick just where Bae's head came up to. "My growing boy! Soon you'll be taller than your Papa!" Mama had snorted and said something under her breath.

That was the second notch.

The summer Bae turned six was a dark and cheerless time. It was the summer his Mama died. "Would you like to measure me, Papa?" Bae had asked. Papa was staring into the fire. He looked older now, and fretful as always. He didn't wash as often this summer, and when he spoke his voice sounded far away, as if it were rising from the bottom of a well.

"What? Oh, yes Bae. Of course. Will you bring over the knife?"

That was the sixth notch.

There were no fourteenth or fifteenth notches. Those were the bitter years when everything went horribly, irrevocably wrong.

On Bae's sixteenth birthday, The Dark One took out his old whittling knife and made three deep, precise cuts lengthwise along his left wrist. He left these wounds to fester.

These were the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth notches.

One summer evening, Belle finds the master of the castle at his wheel. He is hunched forward and does not notice her footsteps crossing the drawing room. The wheel is still and all is silent. The Dark Castle becomes oppressive when he sinks into himself like this.

"Why are you sitting here in the dark?" Belle rests her hands lightly on his shoulders and leans closer, her hair brushing past his cheek, straining to see what has captured his attention so completely.

Her sharp little intake of breath drags him back to the present moment. _"Rumple, stop!" _Belle snatches the tiny blade from his hand and tosses it across the floor. His eyes clench shut, and when he opens them again, his pretty maid is crouching before him, examining his palm.

_"Why did you cut yourself?" _

Rumplestiltskin has displayed mortal wounds to her before, savoring her horrified gasp, then healing himself with a showy flourish and a giggle. This is not that. This is darker. Lonelier. Something passes between them as she meets his hazy, heartsick gaze, and Belle realizes he does not intend to speak, and he does not intend to heal himself.

"I'll get the plasters," she says softly, bending down to retrieve the whittling knife from the floor and taking it with her. "I'll be right back, Rumple."

Belle returns with a basin of warm water, a clean cloth, and the plasters. She sits beside him on the spinning wheel's narrow bench and takes his hand gingerly in her own. Bending forward, she blows cool air on his cut, taking away some of the sting. Next, his palm is washed and tenderly bandaged, Belle's movements slow and gentle. At last, she rests his bandaged hand gently upon his knee and stands.

Rumplestiltskin exhales slowly. She is leaving. But then — Belle pauses behind him, and he feels her arms enfold him tightly from behind and her cheek pressed to his cheek.

"Come sit with me by the fire. I'll read to you until you're sleepy. Anything you like."

That was the last notch.


End file.
